


three words.

by blckpnk



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jims apartment, Long Drabble, M/M, Metaphors, Romance, happens after Galavan but before Oswald becomes Mayor, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blckpnk/pseuds/blckpnk
Summary: Oswald tells Jim he loves him, Jim leaves, Oswald stays.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta, all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is encouraged.

Oswald sat quietly on Jim’s sofa, he felt the bite of the stiff leather under his palms, the draft that ghosted across his skin. He wondered when Jim would get back, or if he would even come back. He knew he should leave, douse this memory in gasoline and burn it to the ground, pretend like it never happened. 

But he stayed, glued to the couch, locked in this room. Waiting, wishing for Jim to come back. Because as much as he knew he fucked up, at least it would be nice to hear it from him, for him to say it to his face, so he could shatter the last little bit of hope that settled inside his stomach, to kill the dream that something good might come of this, as he had once hoped so dearly. 

Oswald stayed as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, the bitter taste of salt in his mouth, the distinct scent of Jim in his nose. He wished that he had something to wipe his face with, because he was a pathetic mess of a man, and he knew it. How could he have ever been in such denial? How could Jim possibly share affection with the bumbling, sticky mess of a man splayed across his sofa? 

Just as Oswald had finally had enough, had decided that his own pity party had gone on for far too long, he heard the door click. Through Oswald’s blurred eyes he saw Jim. Who looked far too surprised for any of this too have a good ending. 

“Oswald?” He asked, like what he was seeing wasn’t real. 

Oswald brought his hands to his face in an attempt to disguise the tear tracks marking his cheeks. 

“Jim- I was just going- I” 

Jim dropped the jacket onto a stray chair by the door, and stepped out of his shoes. Oswald could feel the familiar sting in his chest that always triggered whenever Jim was around, but this time, instead of the swell of hope that always followed immediately after, he was left with a sickening emptiness, a vast void of nothing. It scared him a little. 

“Oswald have you been here since I left?” 

Oswald hiccuped, and sighed, eyes trained on the pile of empty take out containers in front of him. 

“I- yes.” 

Jim moved forward until he had his hands planted on the back of a recliner. 

“It’s- I’ve been gone for 3 hours…” 

Oswald gasped, like a fish out of water, like a man suffocating in his own blood. He clawed for his overcoat, and slipped it over his shoulders. Like he had finally realized what he had been doing, like he finally realized what he had done. What he said. He realized that he would never be able to take them back. 

Jim just watched, as the man scurried around like he was breathing his last dying breath, the same panic in his eyes that he had seen that day on the pier. Jim felt bad that he had caused them both times. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kept saying it over and over, like if the more word Jim heard spill out of his mouth, the more words he had said would be erased from his memory. 

Oswald could feel the shuddering and pounding of his heart in his throat as he pushed past the coffee table and over to the door way, scrambling for his shoes, still mumbling quiet apologies, even though his throat screamed in protest. 

“Oswald.” Jim said.

Oswald couldn’t hear him, all he was focused on was how to get out of this place as fast as possible, because the walls seemed too tall, but the ceiling seemed too short. 

“Oswald!” Jim said, a little louder, a little more forcefully. 

Oswald still scrambled, one shoe on the other well on its way. Breath loud in his ears, oblivious to the fact that Jim was walking over to him. 

A hand settled on Oswald’s shoulder and Jim jerked him up. Oswald looked up at him, surprised, scared, curious. 

“I’m not letting you leave like this, Oz.” Jim said, Oswald let himself feel the tiniest bit of joy at the nickname, that he only let Jim call him. But Jim didn’t know that. 

He and Jim just stood there for a moment Oswald’s tears still flowing freely, the tracks shining in the bluish light, making Oswald look more pale and sickly then he was. Oswald could have turned, pushed Jim away and left, because this was not smart, to let his guard down like this. But instead of keeping the kingpin front, he stripped himself bare of the masks and the lies, and he let himself feel, fully feel. 

It was brutal, he let the feeling of presumed rejection wash over him, the death of his mother, the utter confusion of this whole situation. He shook with the sheer power of it all; and Jim just stood there, hand on his shoulder, grounding him. 

Jim wanted to pull him in, to hug him and hold him and tell him that it’s okay, that even though he was in a constant state of danger, he was safe with him. But instead, he just stood him upright, and watched the emotion flow over him like a ocean. At arms length, he wasn’t far, but he wasn’t close, either. 

When the trembles stilled under Jim’s tight grip, he let go, hand still close, like Oswald was a object sitting on a ledge, that could tip over at anytime. 

A silence washed over them, and Oswald held Jim’s stare for a long while, fingernails marking crescents in his palm. Jim shuffled across the room and slumped on a chair, it groaning under his weight. Oswald didn’t know if he should stand there, wait for the ever looming blow of rejection, or if he should leave. Run off into the night, do god knows what and end up god knows where. 

“Sit down.” Jim breathed, massaging his temples. 

Oswald carefully moved, like if he were to raise the layer of dust settled around him he would break the balance he and Jim had so carefully formed. He sunk back down in the stiff leather, breathed in the scent of Jim’s sweat and cologne, like it was the last time. 

Oswald’s head hung in his hands, he and Jim just sat there, breathing. Subconsciously trying to match each others breath patterns. 

inhale.

 

exhale. 

 

“I’m a bad man, Jim.” 

Bad was an understatement, bad is when you steal or lie or cheat. Oswald was more under the category of nefarious. The river of blood flowing off his palms left a river behind him, a mob of tormented souls followed suit.

“I know.” 

Oswald gasped, hands back on the leather, eyes stinging behind his eyelids. 

“I don’t deserve to love you, Jim.” He mumbled more to himself. 

Jim sighed, hands gripping his hair too hard, he had to feel it, to remind himself that this was happening. There was a fucking sobbing mess of the leader of Gotham’s underground in his living room, and he was in love with him, this was his life now. 

He looked up, and the way Oswald had curled himself up looked like a brace position, like he was going to be battered, beat, broken, more then he already was. In the dim light he could tell he was cowering. Jim assumed he took this position often. 

“You’re safe here, Oz.” 

Oswald didn’t soften, he just squeezed himself tighter against his knees, feeling the ache of his muscles screaming at the stretch. Jim didn't know what to do with him. So he let him sit there, for what seemed like hours, but must’ve been only minutes. 

Oswald didn’t want to sit up, the embarrassment of this situation was finally realized, and he wished that he could disappear, let the ground swallow him up, and let the dirt cover him, let grass and flowers grow over him. He could rest. 

He heard the groan of wood, then a strong warm hand rested upon his shoulder, he looked up at Jim through wet eyelashes. There eyes met, Oswald’s wet, emotional, specs of gold and brown swimming within the blue. Jim’s Cold, kind and caring, but distant. 

“Jim- I- I have to go.” Oswald let out. 

Jim squeezed his shoulder, as a silent okay, a plea of innocence in the fucked up reality of this situation. Oswald got up, on shaky legs. Jim thought they looked skinnier, like twigs. Oswald shuffled around the couch again, this time not scrambling within the last inch of his life, but trailing his hand across the side table picking up a layer of dust on his fingertips, feeling the leather of the sofa, hand trailing across the wall, down the side of the door frame, and then along the crack in the floor board, as he lowered himself down to pick up his shoes. 

Jim wondered if he was trying to memorize everything in the room, because he thought that he would never be here again. He watched as Oswald put on his shoes, knees making an awful cracking noise as he twisted to get up. He reached for the door handle, caressing it, like it was made of the finest gold, and not just something bought from the local hardware store. 

He almost let him turn it, but before Oswald’s hand could fully wrap around it Jim was up off the chair, and behind him. Hand gripping his shoulder, spinning him around, just like before. 

Oswald gasped, looking up at Jim tentatively, like he was going to be hit. Jim just stood there, wondering what the hell he should do next. Oswald knew that if Jim punched him, he would let him, he deserved it. 

They stood there for a moment, the air in between them tense. Jim didn’t let go of him, Oswald didn’t back away. They stayed perfectly still. Until Jim’s hand slid from Oswald’s shoulder, down his side, and wrapped around his waist, the other following suit. 

A shaky hand reached up and touched Jim’s jaw, a finger tracing along the bone, Oswald’s eyes raking over Jim’s face. Trying to take it in, the remember the feeling, the softness of Jim’s skin, the rough stubble. Jim just watched, watched the way Oswald’s lips parted with every breath, watched the way his eyelashes fluttered. Saw how hollow his cheekbones were, how sunken in his eyes looked. 

Jim’s grip tightened, pulling the smaller man flush against him, like he was trying to protect him from the bullets that were always loaded in guns, the guns that were almost always pointed at Oswald. 

A pair of arms wrapped around Jim’s neck, and he let his body take over. He pressed his lips lightly to Oswald’s, who gasped and tried to follow the unsteady rhythm. To anyone from the outside, they looked like a couple who had just had a fight, who had thought the kiss and make better rule was the best way to go. In some ways, Oswald supposed they were. 

But all good things had to come to an end, and Jim pulled back, still forehead to forehead, and closed his eyes, feeling Oswald’s breath ghost across his face. Oswald just stood as still as stone, any movement would disturb the moment of calm that washed over them, would kill the mood. 

Outside the rain had started to pound, the windows of Jim’s tiny apartment rattled, Oswald wondered if it was a sign, a sign that some higher being was angry, that this wasn't meant to be. But he decided to be selfish as he always was, and he still stood. 

“You can't go out in that rain.” Jim whispered, Oswald wondered if he was meant to hear it or not, so he just hummed. 

Jim stood straight again, hands unwrapping from Oswald’s waist. Jim walked back over to his sofa, eyeing the clock on the wall, Oswald stood straight backed and stiff. 

“S’getting late.” 

Oswald nodded. 

“You’re not leaving.” 

Oswald gulped. 

Jim gestured for the sofa, and Oswald shuttled around carefully, treading in territory he didn’t understand, didn’t plan for. 

Jim shuffled around in the kitchenette for a moment. Oswald succumbed to the fate pressed deep inside of him, he let it flow through his veins, into his heart, let it be pumped through him. He let himself for one moment, to consider what this could be. Not what it will be. 

He feels the heaviness in his chest, the deep ache he has felt for so long, he wonders if Jim would care to know about it. That he wishes he didn’t have to do the things he has done, but he was here now, and he couldn’t go back. He wishes he could scream at the world, that he wishes he were normal. But he flew into the spiderweb and now he’s caught, waiting for the spider to come back home. 

Jim comes back with two cups, one for him, the other for Oswald. They sip in silence, both plagued in their own thoughts. Oswald’s hands burn with the warmth of the cup but he holds it tighter anyway. Jim wonders if he’s out of his mind, letting Oswald stay here. But he sees how adorable he was, clutching his mug. Jim decided for once he could be a little crazy. 

Oswald set his cup down of the coffee table in front of him, hands folding back in his lap. The draft from earlier was worse now, it left him shivering in his seat, and the roar of the rain reminded himself that he could’ve been out there now, roaming through the alleyways, amongst the hissing street kids, in the pouring rain. 

“Thank you, Jim.” He whispered, lips trembling, hands squeezed together. 

“No problem.” Jim said, getting up and collecting Oswald’s mug. 

In the small privacy of the kitchen, Jim realized that he didn’t know what he was going to do with the man sitting on his sofa. Because it wasn’t big enough for a person, the only place he would have for him to sleep would be his bed. With him. 

Jim held his head in his hands. 

Oswald was tired, eyes drooping, mind fuzzy, limbs filled with lead. He wondered if this was dangerous, to be vulnerable in front of another person. But if Jim had wanted to kill him, he had many chances to do so, so for now, he deemed it safe. He kicked off his shoes, and neatly folded his jacket and placed it behind him. 

Jim entered back into the room, eyeing Oswald. He was wearing his normal attire, a suit of many pieces. Not exactly sleep attire. 

“You need something to sleep in.” 

A little pink dusted Oswald’s cheeks. 

Jim walked into where Oswald has assumed was his bedroom, and he waited, listening to the opening of drawers, the shuffling of clothes. Then he emerged with a pile of clothes. 

“They are probably too big, bathrooms to the right.” 

Oswald nodded, stood up and took the pile from his hands and shuffled to the bathroom. 

In the yellow light he looked at himself in the mirror, eyes still puffy, skin too pale. He wondered if Jim regretted this, he wondered why he had even came in the first place. 

He watched in the mirror as he stripped of his top half, comparing the sight to a ghost. He trailed his fingers over all the scars and bullet holes that he had adorned so proudly, briefly he wondered what it would be like if his hands were Jim’s, if Jim would look at them so attentively, be gentle or rough when he pressed his fingers into the bumps and ridges of his skin. 

He dressed himself quick enough, the clothes hanging off him like curtains, and emerged to Jim looking similar to himself, but in trade for a t-shirt, he settled for a wife beater. Oswald gulped. 

“I hope you don't mind sharing a bed.” Jim said, deliberately turning his back. 

Oswald gasped, lips parting in a perfect O-shape. 

“No-no I don’t.” 

Jim headed into the again presumed bedroom, and Oswald followed. Cheeks aglow, because this was the sort of thing he only let himself imagine in the blanket of night, when no one knew he was awake, when he was sure he wasn’t being watched. 

They awkwardly danced around each other, climbing under the covers, not talking, not touching. The darkness and the sound of the rain surrounds Oswald, and he feels safe, under the covers, at the very edge of the bed, with Jim far across the valley in-between them. 

When Jim’s breathing evens out and Oswald thinks he is fast asleep, he turns and looks at him, he looks at peace, like there is not a worry in his head. He’s surprised when Jim’s eyes pop open, and stare at him through the darkness.  
“Oswald-“ Jim said, voice deep and groggy. 

Oswald shuffles further to the edge of the bed. 

“Get back over here.” 

A hand wraps around his wrist and pulls, bringing him back to the middle of the bed, Jim wraps an arm around his smaller frame. Oswald squeaks in surprise, and a little bit of joy. 

“Jim- I.” 

“Shh.” 

Oswald turns himself over, so his back is pressed against Jim’s chest. It’s surprisingly comfortable. Just when he is on the edge of falling asleep he feels a breath ghost across his ear. Jim hand leaves his waist for a moment to shift himself up, and he leans down into Oswald’s ear. 

“About earlier-“ He starts, and Oswald’s heart rate picks up, he doesn't dare open his eyes. 

Lips brush against his ear, followed by a tickle of stubble. 

“I think I love you too.” 

Oswald gasps, eyes open to stare at the Man leaning above him. Searching for the truth in his eyes, to make sure that this isn't just a surreal dream. 

Jim presses a chaste kiss to Oswald’s temple and then lays back down. Oswald closes his eyes and hopes, no prays- he doesn't wake up in his own bed.


End file.
